Sweet
by Rhelyn
Summary: Alfred impulsively decides on a little treat for someone he's had his eye on for a while. He never really expected anything to come out of it. USUK.
1. Chapter 1

"Ah, I'll have a triple grande cinnamon dolce latte with hazelnut syrup, to go-' he paused, thinking. "Plus a tall vanilla rooibos tea latte, also to go,"

The blonde gazed longingly at the money he handed over to the cashier, allowing the notes to slip through his fingers. It was a habit he had developed since beginning his job at the advertising firm. He'd only been there six months, and being the new guy who lacked any work experience whatsoever other than that of McDonalds', he wasn't exactly raking in the cash.

His parents had decided he could survive well enough on his own, and went touring the world or some other sappy romantic thing after helping with the down payment on his apartment. He was holding up well enough on his own right now, but it was all he could do to top up his rainy day funds a little each month.

Alfred set off for work, sipping his coffee and the tea in a carrier. The pavement, as usual, was bustling with fellow office workers and the roads were so congested the flow of traffic was more like that of water in a dammed lake than a river. Joining in the rush of people, he kept a close eye on the tea to ensure that it didn't slam into someone's leg or briefcase. That would be a complete waste of his effort and money.

Left, right, left- whoa, incoming briefcase- right left… black trousers brushed against the plastic and he hissed a curse under his breath, relaxing when nothing happened.

His own beverage was half gone by the time he entered the wonderfully empty reception area, and he flashed a smile at the pretty redhead at the counter as he passed by on the way to the elevators.

Alfred clocked in, then burst through the entrance of the department, yelling out, "Good morning, everyone~!"

Those within earshot- in other words, all present- returned his greetings, while at the other end of the room, an English accent made itself heard through the words, "Someone shut that git up," as per the norm.

From the individual cubicle by the entrance, the sultry Daena Key stood up, leaning over the separator _just__so_, purring, "Hello, Alfred~"

Grinning, he responded, "Hello yourself, Daena."

She glanced at the extra cup Alfred was carrying and raised her thin eyebrows and asked, "What's that?"

He looked at it and grinned sheepishly, having forgotten its name. "It's an, uh, vanilla something tea… latte,"

Daena's eyes grew slightly, and she clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "A vanilla rooibos tea latte? Oh, I _love_ those!"

He continued smiling, oblivious as to what her thoughts were. "Oh, you do? Hahah, that's great! Gotta get down to work now, Daena, 'else someone'll be after my ass. See ya!"

With that, he walked off to his workspace. Daena could only blink after him and shake her head with a sigh, soft dark curls bouncing lightly about her slender shoulders. That boy could be denser than steel sometimes.

As Alfred dumped his coffee and his bag at his desk, his co-worker Elizaveta stuck her head from over her adjacent cubicle and inquired cheekily, "Since when did you start drinking tea, hm?"

Alfred looked up, surprised, and scratched the back of his head shyly. Elizaveta pressed on, "I thought you were pretty damn broke, too, which is why you've been freeloading as much as you can."

Alfred pinked slightly and hushed her with a violent 'shush' sound, pouting. "It's not my fault I'm poor! And you know very well how it's like to be supporting yourself after paying for your own college," he pointed out.

Elizaveta laughed, "Of course I do, Al. You know I'm just teasing you. So, who's it for?'

"It's not for anyone!" He started defensively, but he knew that she wasn't going to fall for it- her 'I- know- everything' smile was in place.

"Mmhm, because you drink tea, right?"

"Uh…"

"No?" Her smile widened a little. "Then it's for someone! If not for office belle Ms Key, then whoever could it be? Not little ol' me, that's for sure,"

Alfred puffed out his cheeks in protest at the teasing, but Elizaveta stretched over to ruffle his hair. "Okay, I've had my fun, I have a shit ton of work to do before my leave or I'll be drowning in it when I get back. Have fun with your boyfriend~"

She giggled as Alfred gaped, unable to get any words out before the brunette dropped back down to her own workspace, out of view. In the end he decided to ignore the comment, strolling out to the back of the department.

The alcove there had two identical doors- one on the left wall and the other on the right. Neither was the Head's office, though, that was close to the entrance- Daena was his secretary. The door to the left had a small plaque next to it that read 'Arthur K.', and that was the one he knocked on before sticking his head around, not bothering to wait for an answer.

The little office was neatly, albeit rather sparsely furnished, with a workdesk in the middle and a cupboard as well as a file cabinet backed up against the left wall. It was well-lit thanks to the back wall being made out of windows, but the blonde at the desk still felt semi-blinded by his visitor's grin as he looked up, irate.

"What do you want, Mr. Jones?" he asked, tapping his pen against the tabletop impatiently.

Alfred's smile faltered just the tiniest bit as he stepped inside, nervous. "I was getting my daily cup of awesome down at Starbucks just now, and thought, well, why not get something for you too?" he answered, setting the tea down as he leant against Arthur's desk.

Said man's eyes widened in surprise, but rather than ask why, he stated bluntly, "I don't drink coffee."

Alfred chuckled and said, "I know." Indicating towards the beverage, he continued, " This is a vanilla rooibos tea latte," He sent a silent thanks to Daena for reminding him what the hell this was.

Arthur still didn't appear to be very impressed, intoning, "I prefer my tea plain, two sugars at most,"

Alfred's expression seemed to soften for some inexplicable reason as he repeated, "I know." Then, reaching out to touch the smaller man's cheek- "It's to keep you sweet,"

After mumbling which, he unhitched himself from the desk and left the private office. Arthur sat, pen sitting in his loose grip, a slow blush spreading over his cheeks as the realization of what had just occurred set in.

He shook himself, then went back to the papers in front of him.

A/N: This is the first time I've actually written a proper story for Hetalia outside of using the characters for my English essays (of which plot my teacher loves, but not my overshooting the word count or cliffhangers) , and I'm not really used to the format, so.

* * *

><p>AN: IDK if this is a oneshot or what, it's really just something I crapped out in Chinese class. Concrit welcome~

Edit: If you see any mistakes whatsoever or some parts don't flow well in this or the other chapters, do notify me. I'm irritating myself to no end with this horribly sub-standard writing. Help me watch out for italics, too. FF is giving me problems with those.


	2. Chapter 2

**UK names are from Facebook RP pages, but I did switch around a bit to fit their supposed origins.**

Alfred was shaking slightly as he shut the door behind him. Shit, what if Arthur wasn't actually interested in men? He'd seen him blush a little, so that had to count for something, right? Damnit, what if he was just the kind of person who blushed easily? Or if it was because he was angry, not embarrassed? Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

Alfred lowered himself onto his chair, relieving his slightly shaky legs. What if Arthur reported him to Berwald for sexual harassment? He hid his face in his hands. No, he hadn't done anything, an act as simple as treating someone to tea doesn't constitute as harassment, especially not if done only once. He looked up, trying to reassure himself and thought back to last week's incident at the pantry.

* * *

><p>"Aw, come on, Artie! It's just two days!"<p>

"You should know very well that what I do depends on that of all six of you in this miniscule department. If you can't get your work done in time, that simply means that the amount of time I have to complete mine will be compromised. I refuse to allow your laissez-faire attitude to implicate my record of never having missed a deadline! Also, it's '_Mr.__ Kirkland_' to you. Have some respect," Arthur hissed.

"Why, thank you," was Alfred's cheeky reply, completely unaffected by the mood of the seething man before him. "You gotta loosen up, man, it can't be that great to go about life with sticks up your ass."

The older man looked slightly taken aback and mumbled something about people these days, before straightening up, matching his celery-green eyes to Alfred's baby blues and saying something along the lines of, "Oh, it's not _sticks_ that go 'up my ass', Alfred, and I'll have you know that it's not as bad as you make it out to be."

It took a few seconds for Alfred to understand what was being implied, and let his jaw slack when realisation hit. Satisfied at having shut the American up, Arthur's response was but to smirk as he turned heel and sauntered back to his office, throwing a, "Don't miss your deadline," over his shoulder as he left.

* * *

><p>Alfred sucked in a deep breath. Okay, how else could you interpret that? Not any way his mind could come up with, even when he tried his best to use his imagination (which is saying something, just about everyone who knows him can tell you that he's ridiculously overimaginative).<p>

Nevertheless, he went through the rest of the work day in a bit of a daze, nervous about what Arthur's reaction would be. That was why when the Briton presented himself by his cubicle entrance as he was preparing to knock off- rather late, he might add- he let out a manly yell.

"Did… did you just _shriek_?" Arthur asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I most certainly did not," Alfred huffed, the hand that had been clutching his shirt over his heart falling back to his side. "Jeez, Artie, you have _got_ to stop being so ninja-like. You nearly scared the rainbows outta me,"

Thick eyebrows were raised at the choice of words, but their owner didn't question it. "Arthur," was all he said.

"Eh?"

"It's 'Arthur', not 'Artie'."

Alfred blinked at him owlishly, then broke out into a grin.

"So, _Arthur_, did you need something?" he asked, relishing the ability to call him by his first name, _with __permission._He wasn't going to stick with it for long, but still. As far as he knew the rest of his colleagues, what few of them there were, referred to him as 'Mr. Kirkland' (to his face) or 'Eyebrows' (behind his back), with the exception of Elizaveta, who was either on a first name basis with someone who wasn't important, or their worst nightmare. Actually, no, she called the latter by their first names as well.

The Englishman lowered his gaze and replied, "Well, I wanted to know if you were free to head out for a few drinks, seeing as it's Friday and all; I'll buy you a round,"

Alfred momentarily reverted back to his owl impression, then smirked. "Sure."

"I'm not doing this because I like you or anything, but because it's the proper thing to do," Arthur scowled, looking off to the side.

"Whatever you say, old man," he said, laughing as Arthur almost yelled that he was _not_ old, damn it, he was only four years Alfred's senior.

"Well, you sure act like one," Alfred retorted as he slipped the last of his papers into his file and slotted it into his black harversack. When there was no reply, he grinned to himself and slung his bag onto one shoulder. "Ready?" Alfred gave his best at a charming smile, and Arthur, who was looking at him again, had to avert his eyes.

The shorter blonde nodded, and they made their way to the exit together.

Elizaveta, now the last one left, glared and cursed at her paperwork, decidedly unhappy that she had to finish up as much of it as possible.

As they stood waiting for the elevator, Alfred glanced curiously at the other's bag and asked, "Do you have any idea how gay- or metro- that makes you look?"

Arthur tilted his head downwards to follow Alfred's gaze to his leather satchel and said, "It's a Mulberry's, mind you, and it was a gift from a… very flamboyant gay man…" He trailed off as there was a 'ding!', and the lift doors slowly began to part.

"Your boyfriend?" Alfred queried as they stepped into the lift. Arthur raised a heavy brow at him and he shrugged, staring at his own reflection in the smooth surface of the moving elevator doors.

"…no. We're more of… what do you call it? Ah, frenemies. Annoying lecherous French bastard, but we've known each other since we were toddlers. Been fighting since the very day we met."

"Ah. He live here in the States too?"

" 'Does he', Alfred, and yes. Quite unfortunately. From France to England and back to France, then flew in here from his city of _l__'__amour_-" Here he made use of a mocking French accent, garnering a snicker from his companion, "-two years ago, I've been here for one and a half. Sometimes-" They exited the lift, "I quite regret ever telling him that I was coming to New York."

When they passed through the front entrance, Alfred turned to Arthur and asked, "Where to?"

"My apartment's just a ten to fifteen minute walk away, and there's a bar a few streets down, is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." A moment of silence passed, then Alfred spoke up disbelievingly, "Wait, you live in this area?"

"…is that a problem?"

"No, but places around here cost a bomb! Y'know, being central and all."

At this point Arthur decided that they should get a move on instead of standing around like a couple of fools and started walking down the street. "Yes, but it's a lot less of a hassle to get to work in the mornings, and I'm probably less likely to be mugged or something on my way home on late nights."

Alfred narrowed his eyes at him. "You're rich," he said, almost as though it was an accusation. Which it kinda was.

The green eyed male gave a wry smile. " I did have a college fund, but I took on two jobs during my college days anyway, because my brothers, who raised me, were all scattered throughout the UK, and I wasn't sure I would have enough left over to support myself during that indefinite amount of time between graduating and getting a full-time job, nor could I just leech off my brothers. They ended up sending me more money anyway, the silly arses."

Alfred let out a low whistle. "Whoa, two part time jobs _and_ college? I don't think I could have handled that. How many brothers do you have?"

"I didn't exactly have a social life, so it was fine. I have three- I'm the runt, as they like to call me. Cailean's in Scotland, Cmyru is in Wales and Erin's in Ireland. North, that is, not the Republic. As far away from each other as we could manage, and they thought it would be funny to go live where their individual names originated from. I'm here because of my job, though, I worked in the England branch prior to this."

"Three older brothers, that must suck. I got a twin, Mattie- Matthew- he was born here but got shipped off to Canada ASAP with my dad. The 'rents are- were divorced, see, but they remarried last year and are somewhere on the other side of the world doing tai chi or something," Alfred wrinkled his nose, wondering why the hell his parents would think that romantic. Fun, maybe, but _romantic_?

Arthur, in the meantime, was mentally slapping himself for even thinking that Alfred looked rather cute with his nose like that. He cleared his throat- "Yes, well. My brothers bullied me, but that's how elder siblings are, and they _were_ the ones who brought me up. They're somewhat nicer now, though Cailean is still quite the prick."

"Mattie's older by a few minutes, but he's a real nice guy. Shy, soft-spoken an' all that…"

And that was how they spent the walk down to the bar, chatting amicably about anything and everything that came to mind.

* * *

><p>AN: Nyan cat anyone? o3o

I still don't know where I'm going with this, I can't concentrate on other essay prompts so I'm just kinda going with the flow here. Pardon any mistakes, I rush typed this out.

Hopefully I'm done before I lose my inspiration- that happens a lot, might explain the short chapters. -w- Pretty sure I can guarantee one more chapter though~

Even reviews with a '8D' will be very much appreciated, because a review system is a feedback system, yes? And all those feedback surveys always have smileys. 83


	3. Chapter 3

"Arthur. Artie. Artie. Artie." Arthur lifted his gaze from his gin and tonic, which he had decided on after declaring that American beer was 'chilled gnat's piss', much to the bartender's chagrin. Alfred had ordered apple breezer, for God's sake. "…I have a sweet tooth, okay?" he had defended himself when he saw Arthur's look.

Arthur's response was, "My fourteen year old niece drinks that."

"Hey! I'm not a girl!"

A shrug. "You never know."

"What, you want me to show you?" Alfred's expression had switched from indignant to something more…seductive? Arthur had felt his cheeks burn as he deigned not to answer, instead focusing his gaze on the drink the bartender had thankfully just set down.

That was a while ago, though, now Alfred was rather more than tipsy, face slightly red from the alcohol he had imbibed. Arthur had a much higher tolerance thanks to his regular bouts of getting wasted- this time he had restrained himself from going crazy with the drinks in… somewhat decent company. He was quite glad he did, because delirious Alfred was proving to be good sport.

"Yes?"

"Whaye d'ya think dis," Alfred held up his Peach Long Island- not something so girly as a sangria or _Red __Irish__ daiquiri_, Lord, what was that boy _thinking_? Just as well, though, can't seem to hold his liquor well- in front of him, squinting suspiciously at it, "-is called 'Long Island Iced Tea'? I mean, there ain' no tea in it, nor is there a long island." He set the glass down with a 'thunk', poking despondently at it.

Arthur chuckled, "Well, maybe it came from a long island and it just looks like tea,"

Alfred sat up straight, mood lifted now he had an answer. "Yer mus' be righ', Arteh~" he chirped, so that even Arthur had to smile at the nickname and the younger's silly expression.

Moodswings were evidently on the day's programme, for then Alfred began staring blankly at the countertop.

"What's wrong, love?" Arthur asked, though not too unduly worried.

Slowly he raised his head to focus on Arthur and whined, with a frightened look, "Wha' about a Bloody Mary?'

As much as he would like to disturb Alfred, Arthur decided that the cowering puppy look was enough and conjured up a story. "Perhaps us British called it 'Bloody Merry', as in 'Merry Christmas' and you Americans simply fucked up the name like you always do with everything,"- even though he usually greeted 'Happy Christmas' himself.

"Ooohhh~" Alfred's features rearranged themselved to a 'I- see- the- light' face, a look that would have been interpreted as mocking had it been produced under more serious circumstances, but gave off a right silly vibe in this context.

"Yer real smart, Artie," What was this, a _bian__ lian_* performance? Alfred was staring at him with an adoring, besotted expression, arms hanging between his bent knees and dangling legs.

"…okay?" Arthur blinked at him, caught off-guard by the fanboy look.

"An' real pretty too~" Alfred reached out a finger to poke him in the cheek and giggled. Arthur didn't know what to be more surprised at- that Alfred had called him 'pretty' of all things _(I__'__m __not__ a__ fucking __girl,__ damnit!),_ or that he had _giggled_.

"Alright, Alfred, I think you've had more than enough." Arthur hopped off the barstool and tugged at the other, who whined again, "Dun wanna,"

"Come _on_, Alfred," Arthur stepped back and crossed his arms, frowning. The bartender snickered from where he was serving another customer.

"Aww," he pouted, sliding off the stool like a disappointed child. Arthur sighed. He had just realized that he had no idea where this guy lived and would probably have to bring him back home. Unless…

"Alfred, where do you live?"

The blue eyed blonde looked constipated for a moment, fumbling with his bag while trying his best to move straight, then blurted, "Hamburger Street,"

Arthur sighed again and shook his head, standing next to Alfred and ducking under his left arm to support him better. His place it was.

* * *

><p>"Damn it, Alfred. Stop leaning on me so heavily, I can't get my keys," Arthur grunted, pulling at the satchel stuck between their bodies. His right was still preoccupied with Alfred, and it was a bit awkward fumbling with only his left. Thankfully, Alfred shifted so that his weight was on his right leg, releasing the Brit and opting to stare out at the night sky.<p>

He hadn't been so obedient on the way here, though, he'd nearly slammed them into a tree by the road with his constant zig-zagging to point out random objects.

"Alfred," Arthur sighed as he stepped into his living room shed his jacket while said man still stood outside stargazing. Alfred looked at him, walked forward and promptly tripped over the threshold. Arthur stared down in abject horror at Alfred's faceplant, kneeling down to help up the idiot.

"Are you okay?" His voice was laced with concern.

"Mighty peachy," Alfred grinned at him, having miraculously not sustained any injuries. Arthur could only shake his head and continue guiding him to his guest bedroom, shedding their bags onto the couch on the way.

"You're like a child who hasn't learnt to walk," he grumbled, maneuvering them towards the bed. Alfred giggled again.

"Here's the bed, git. Get onto it," Arthur heaved at Alfred to push him off onto the bed, but the American refused to let go whilst falling over into the soft mattress, tugging Arthur down with him.

"Whoa!" Arthur flailed as he was dragged along, eventually finding himself in the rather awkward position of being sprawled across Alfred. The lower half of Alfred's left leg was being suspended off the bed, while his own legs were on either side of it, Arthur's right hanging off altogether.

Peeved, Arthur sat up so he was straddling that leg and started stabbing Alfred in the chest with a finger, scolding, "What the fuck is wrong with you? I only said for you to get onto the bed, not pull me down with you. I'm nice enough not to just leave you face-down on my living room floor and this is how you repay me. Alfred, you bloody wanker, are you even listening to me?"

Alfred's eyes were slightly hazed over, and he seemed to be breathing a little faster than normal. "…Alfred?" Arthur shifted, worried, and leant forward to take a closer look at his face. At the movement, Alfred's brow's furrowed and he bit his lip, letting out a small groan.

It was then Arthur glanced down and noticed just what his left knee was pressing against. "Ah-" Arthur tried to scramble away, but strong arms reached up and hooked around his neck before he could distance himself, bringing his face ridiculously close to Alfred's. They locked gazes for a moment, before Alfred moved closer and pressed his lips harshly to Arthur's.

Arthur let out a squeak, eyes widening as he struggled against Alfred's stronger grip, scrabbling against the sheets, but it proved futile as Alfred simply flipped them over and made use of Arthur's surprise to prise his lips apart.

Arthur tried shoving at Alfred's shoulders, wriggling under the weight of Alfred's body. _Shit,__ this __guy__'__s __heavy.__God,__ I __hope__ he __doesn__'__t __rape __me-__ wait __a __minute,__ he _is_ bloody__ raping__ me-_

Then his shifting about caused his own groin to press up against Alfred's bulge, and the resulting sensation derailed his train of thoughts. _Oh,__ fuck __it, __I__'__ll__ take__ what __I__ can__ bloody __get._

Alfred growled in satisfaction as Arthur started kissing back, bringing one hand up to remove his glasses before grabbing a fistful of his hair and allowing the other to slip behind his back. Alfred wasn't doing a very good job at making out, and his mouth was rather too sweet from feminine drinks for his taste, but none of that really mattered when Alfred ground down with his hips, causing Arthur to suck in a deep breath from around the kiss.

Fuck _yes_, did that feel good- Arthur wrapped his legs around Alfred, pressing them closer together for more of that wonderful _pressure_ and _contact_, feeling both their hard-ons growing.

Alfred moaned, and Arthur took that moment to loosen his legs and switch their positions to start rutting against Alfred at a faster speed because he was _too__ damn __slow_ _and __it__ had__ been__ too__ long __since__ he__'__d __done__ anything__ like__ this_. They both groaned and parted momentarily, panting and simply losing themselves in the feeling of getting off, boxers dampening.

Alfred growled and flipped them over again, crashing his lips to Arthur's as the both of them began grinding against each other as well as they could, desperate for the delicious friction that came with it. Arthur could feel just how solid Alfred's member was above him, it occurred to him that only a few thin layers of material separated them, held them back from blissful skin-on-skin.

Arthur came first, bucking upwards and allowing his head to drop back down, digging his fingers into Alfred's sweat-soaked shirt. It took Alfred a short while after, knocking the wind out of a slowly coming-to Arthur by completely flopping onto him with a groan.

Arthur shoved the suffocating mass of American off as much as he could- Alfred was still partially on top of him, any more and he would have tumbled onto the floor- and lay there for a while, letting his rapidly beating heart revert back to its usual pace. He really wanted to clean up, but what with spending the day at work in a bit of a tizzy and the few drinks he'd had and having to get Alfred back here and _just__now_… it was honestly all he could do to tug down his trousers and unbutton his shirt for a bit of comfort before falling asleep.

Needless to say, Alfred was pretty much already knocked out.

* * *

><p>AN: It's 3.45am now, I'm going check my mistakes when I've gotten some sleep. I wanted to update yesterday, but got caught up in research. I research a bit obsessively sometimes, even what coffee/tea they have where (it took me half an hour to decide what Al was going to order. True story.). Ngh, hopefully I didn't make as many mistakes as I would have- BUT THIS IS FF, JA? /brick'd

There'll be a slight delay with the next chapter; I need to focus on my London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts Grade 3 Public Speaking Examination and not keep trying to develop this. Augh talking to actual Londoner on formal basis, wish me luck.

Sorry A/N is so tl;dr, and thank you so much for sticking with me~ -distributes brightly coloured scones-


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur woke up warm and sticky with sweat, thanks to the fact that there was absolutely no proper ventilation in the house, much less in that one stuffy room with closed windows. Being plastered against Alfred, who was radiating body heat, wasn't exactly helping either.

He rolled over and got off the bed with a grimace, feeling decidedly disgusting being covered in sweat, with bad morning breath and… soiled. Arthur gazed at Alfred, still out and drooling, and a soft smile adorned his face as he stood there, staring. The git looked quite peaceful when asleep for someone with such an overbearing amount of energy when awake.

Alfred certainly wasn't going to look that serene when he woke up, he was bound to have at least a mild hangover. Arthur snorted and decided that it was high time he showered. He shuffled out the room, glancing at the living room's wall clock on the way back to his own room and his toilet. Nine thirty, huh. Much later than his usual 8am weekend waking up time.

As Arthur stripped of his clothes in the bathroom and stepped inside the shower, he pondered a little about last night. There was a good chance Alfred would forget, and it was hardly as though they'd gone very far, but…

Honestly, he quite liked Alfred, despite the attitude he displayed towards him. There was just something about the man that inexplicably drew Arthur to him, perhaps his _joie__de__vivre_, something Arthur himself lacked so substantially. It hardly mattered, anyway, the jocund Alfred would never be interested in a boring stick-in-the-mud as him.

"_Then__ why__ did__ he __get__ that __tea__ for__ you?__ Nobody __else__ has__ ever__ been__ inclined__ to__ do__ so,__ and__ everyone__ knows__ how__ stingy__ Alfred__ generally __is.__ It__'__s __even__ an__ office__ joke,_" whispered a little voice in his head. He shooed it away as he would a particularly bothersome pixie, thinking to himself that it was probably just to get into his pants anyway.

While it wasn't exactly gossip, any of the department workers could tell you Arthur was gay so long as you asked the right questions (which Alfred evidently didn't bother trying to, but he doesn't need to know). He wouldn't been surprised, honestly, he had been propositioned a fair number of times and accepted just as many so long as he wasn't attached at the time.

He was also fairly sure that Alfred, with his American dream man looks and admittedly rather charming personality, wasn't exactly a virgin, either. Arthur sighed through his nose as he dried off and walked out of the toilet to put on a fresh set of clothing- a plain grey cotton tee and a pair of casual black slacks. Feeling much more comfortable, he set about opening up a few windows and snapping the switch on the living room fan, allowing the mid-spring temperatures to do the rest of the work.

Then, tucking his feet into his favourite fuzzy green slippers (fuzzy slippers were comfortable, okay?), Arthur made breakfast, ate and began tidying up the house as he did every Saturday, a black headband holding back his permanently messy bangs.

By noon he had set down his feather duster and had just dumped the contents of his laundry basket into the washing machine when he remembered the guest bedroom's sheets weren't exactly the epitome of cleanliness with all the sweating that had been done on it, and it was time to wake that lazy arse on it anyway.

Arthur strode purposefully into the room, ignoring how the midday sunlight streaming through the bedside window accentuated Alfred's already handsome features- and if anything that should have woken the stupid bugger up- and slapped his head. Alfred, in that state between proper sleep and full consciousness, groaned and pushed his face further sideways into the pillow.

"Time to get up, Sleeping Beauty. It's already afternoon and I need to change the sheets your fat arse is lying on."

"M'not fat…" Alfred mumbled, shifting to reposition himself on his belly and resume sleeping.

Arthur glared at the limp form, contemplating just kicking him out of the bed. That would be a tad mean of him as a host- not that Alfred was being a very good guest, so he decided to try again.

"Alfred," Arthur shook his shoulder. "Alfred. Alfred. For fuck's sake, Alfred, how did your mum ever get you out of bed during your college days? ALFRED."

"Nngh. Go 'way, you're making my headache worse. An' close the curtains."

"There are no bloody curtains in this room, get up. It serves you right, and you've slept away the entire morning already. You can go back to sleep after I'm done with the sheets," Arthur said, aiming a slap towards Alfred's ass and attaining absolutely no pleasure out of it. No, sir. "…and a shower," he added as an afterthought. "You stink and you'll dirty my clean sheets."

Alfred groaned again, slowly sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. For a few moments he sat there, arms resting on his lap, staring at the wall directly opposite while Arthur crossed his arms and waited.

Alfred turned his head slightly to look at the scowling Brit and gave a sort of half-smirk, lethargy and the pain in his head impeding his ability and willingness to do anything more, and told him, "Y'know, Artie, if you wanted to grope my ass you could've just asked. Or you could've done it anyway, I wouldn't have minded."

Arthur blushed. "Who the fuck would want to touch you, you moron? And don't call me 'Artie'!"

As Alfred reached for his glasses and stood up, he shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the shorter blonde. "Uh, say. We didn't… do anything last night, did we?"

The pink hue on Arthur's face hadn't subsided. "Define 'anything'."

"Well, uh, you're not… sore anywhere, are you?" He wasn't, so…

"My back's certainly suffered from sharing a single bed with you when you refused to release me after I pushed you onto the bed, but, no, we didn't fuck, if that's what you're asking. Disappointed?" Arthur leered.

Alfred's face held an indiscernible mix of emotions, confusion being the most prominent. "You pushed me onto the bed?"

Arthur held his face in his left hand, cursing himself for his poor wording. "Just… let it come back to you, alright? I'm going back to my cleaning. That sliding door leads to the guest bathroom, spare toiletries are all under the sink, and the toothbrush is a disposable one."

"Cleaning, eh?" Alfred asked, bumbling towards the indicated door. "That explains the headband. Makes you look totally girly, by the way."

"Wha- I do **not** look girly!"

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day, when you're old and senile, you'll actually believe it. Oh, wait, you already are~" Alfred snickered at the glimpse of Arthur's outraged face he go as he turned around to close the bathroom door. From the inside he could still hear Arthur mutter about 'stupid Americans' and why he even came here in the first place when England was a perfectly nice place to live, the soft foomping sound of sheets being removed accompanying it.

The bathroom was a tiny one with just a toilet bowl and sink at one end and a shower head attached to the wall at the other, the wall in the middle of one of the room's lengths. There wasn't really anywhere he could put his clothes without getting them wet, so he got rid of them by sliding open the door slightly and tossing them out, having grimaced at the state of his lucky purple boxers (oh, shut up).

Alfred was feeling a tad let down that he hadn't managed to… do anything with Arthur- which made sense, seeing as he awoke fully clothed, but that didn't explain how he'd gotten off with Arthur sleeping with him, literally.

Vague little snippets of the night before started coming back to him when he was busy admiring his shampoo Mohawk in the sink mirror, and he wondered if it meant anything as he rinsed off his soapy masterpiece. As men, little trysts such as the one they'd had didn't necessarily meant anything in terms of proper relationships, but it still gave Alfred hope. Arthur hadn't been drunk as far as he could remember, and his current demeanor certainly made it seem so, therefore he now knew for sure that Arthur didn't find him _too_ repulsive.

…on the other hand, whether someone of his caliber would be willing to get together with a poor sucker such as himself was another question altogether. Arthur was beautiful, you could hardly deny once you looked past his somewhat unfortunate abundance of eyebrow hair- which only served to make the Englishman all the more adorable in Alfred's eyes. And hey, eyebrow hair is actually quite nice and soft (don't ask).

Evidently he was also quite well-off, and he must have been quite competent at his job at the very least to have been sent here from across the pond. Then here was Alfred, noob extraordinaire, only just making ends meet and probably possessing the kind of personality that irked Arthur the most, trying to woo him.

Put that way, Alfred couldn't help but despair a little, but he reassured himself- with his lovable personality and great looks, he would be able to win over Arthur in good time… though that could be a long time coming.

But that was okay, he was a hero, and heroes never- wait, where the fuck did his clothes go? Alfred stuck his head fully past the door and noted that his clothes were indeed missing, and the bedsheets were brown rather than white. Wrapping the towel around his waist and securing it tightly, he wandered out of the guestroom to find Arthur reading on the couch to his left, back facing him.

Apparently Arthur hadn't heard him coming out, or had chosen to ignore it, as he didn't respond in any way but for the turning of a page. A mischievous smile crept onto Alfred's face as he crept forward and hovered above Arthur's left shoulder, next to his ear- then tapped the shoulder.

Arthur snapped his head to the left, effectively planting a kiss on the other's cheek as his lips came into contact with a face. Arthur's eyes were wide as Alfred straightened up, and, with a shit-eating grin, cooed, "Aw, thanks. That made me feel so much better~" Furious and blushing again, he hurled the thick hardcover at him, barely missing Alfred's ear by an inch.

"Whoa, whoa, be careful with that thing," Alfred walked to where the book had landed, bending down with his knees straight so the back of the towel rose up and- no, bad Arthur. Bad, bad Arthur. Still, he couldn't help but wish it had gone further so he could get a lo- the older man slammed his head into the back of the sofa, mentally berating himself for thinking such thoughts.

Alfred's grin was all the wider when he saw the state Arthur was in, but schooled his expression and asked, "You 'kay there, Art?" Said man looked up with a glare, demanding for him to _stop __calling __him__ '__Art__'__,__ '__Artie__' __or __any__ other __silly__ name__ of__ the__ sort,__ his__ name__ was__ '__Arthur__'_, "-and for the love of God, put on some clothes!"

Alfred shrugged, "I would, but my clothes are gone." Arthur blinked- "Oh, right. Your clothes are in the wash right now, I'll pop them in the tumble dryer when they're done." Alfred's brows knitted together. "So I'm supposed to walk around like this all day?"

"…ah."

Arthur got up, snatched the book from him over the back of the couch, and strode into what was probably his room. While he was there, Alfred took the chance to go back and open the door next to that of the guest bedroom's. It led to a study of sorts, about the size of the spare bedroom and toilet combine, the walls lined with dark oak bookshelves. He took a moment to be awed by the sheer number of books and to look oddly at a piece of cloth stretched over an embroidery hoop with an incomplete design of… fairies? decorating it resting on a beige armchair.

For a moment he panicked because he thought Arthur was still living with his mum or something, but calmed down when he remembered that he and his siblings were orphans. Fuck, he wasn't _married_, was he? No, no, the man was single, that much he knew. _So__ he __embroiders__…_

The grey carpeted floor was extremely comfortable to walk on, and along the same wall was yet another door, which let him in to one of those nicely furnished toilets one normally finds in the better hotels. The toilet had another closed entrance to his left- _connecting__doors!_- and when Alfred opened that, he was faced with a wall about a metre away from him.

Gingerly, he stepped out the fuckawesome toilet and turned right- where he was faced with a pretty damn big bedroom, Arthur digging something out of a drawer.

"OHMYGOD ARTIE YOUR PLACE IS SO FREAKING COOL THERE ARE _**CONNECTING**__** DOORS **_EVERYWHERE AND YOUR ROOMS ARE HUGE AND YOUR TOILET LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THOSE SWANKY HOTEL ONES-" He was cut off by something dark and soft flung into his face by an irritated and shocked Arthur, who hadn't heard Alfred enter again.

The 'something' turned out to be a pair of navy blue silk boxers and he looked at Arthur, joking, "This all I'm going to get?" He was surprised when the reply was, " _'__Is__ this__'_. Yes, it is. My clothes are a close fit, and it's quite obvious you have a larger frame than I do, so I doubt you can wear them. That pair is the largest I have."

"You just want to see me walking around almost naked, don't you?" Alfred smirked.

Another pair of boxers was thrown at him, this time hitting him in the chest. "Now, now, Arthur, this isn't some sort of Chippendales performance, sexy as may find me, so there's really no need to be flinging your underwear at me."

"Insufferable prat-"

"Sheep? Really?" The more recently tossed pair had light blue colouring and a number of jumping cartoon sheep all over them. Alfred raised a brow. Arthur may as well have painted his face pink with all the blushing he was doing today; he blamed his mother.

"Cmyru gave them to me. Said it was to remind me of him, so fat chance I'm wearing them near my nether regions-."

"-you mean your dick-."

"-dick, penis, tool, whichever. Must you be so crude?- I kept those two in a pile I don't wear. The navy ones are too loose and keep slipping."

"…silk?"

"They were for sleeping…"

"You sleep in nothing but your boxers?"

"Is that so odd?"

"No, I do that too. You just don't strike me as the sort…"

"What the hell do you think I wear, then, a nightgown?"

"…"

"…you're not serious."

Alfred grinned again, throwing back the sheep " 'course I'm not, though I wouldn't have been surprised." Arthur glowered at him as he caught them, re-folding them neatly for the drawer. In the meantime, Alfred tugged on the silk boxers under the towel, disturbing the fluffy cloth and allowing it to fall about his ankles.

"Couldn't you have done that in the toilet? It's just to your right."

"Yeah, but I thought you liked this kind of stuff, so-" Arthur grabbed a pillow and flung that as well- a lot of things were flying today. Alfred laughed as he gently whacked the airborne pillow away, watching Arthur stalk out of the room. He left the poor thing with the company of his towel and followed his host out.

"There's an orange and banana smoothie in the fridge, plus an egg sandwich on the counter, that's your breakfast. Or brunch, seeing as how it's past morning already." Arthur huffed, returning to his place on the sofa to read. "It's supposed to help with hangovers; you can go back to sleep after you're done with it, if you want."

Alfred only then was reminded of the pain in his head, which had since subsided and was now quite bearable. He'd actually forgotten about it amidst his playful quarrels with the older man.

"Thanks for being such a sweetheart, Artie~" he sang out as he crossed into the kitchen to find his food. He could hear Arthur sputter as he yelled back, " 'Arthur'! My parents did indeed give me that name; call me as such!" Ah, man. That guy seriously was just too cute.

Alfred heard him get up at some point while he was eating, presumably to handle his clothes. After he gulped down the last of his smoothie, he let out an appreciative burp and returned to the living room to find Arthur ironing his pants.

"Hey, Artie. That stuff you made tasted pretty good, I thought you English couldn't cook for nuts."

Arthur didn't bother looking up as he said, "One, that's stereotyping. Not every one of my fellow countrymen are unable to cook. Two, you're actually right, I can't, but that involved no cooking whatsoever, unless you count boiling eggs as cooking. I could probably burn soup, but I must say I do make a mean sandwich. As long as I don't really cook anything, it's fine."

Alfred didn't let the missing complaint about nicknames go unnoticed, plopping down on a lone black leather armchair and eyeing the ironing man before commenting, "You really are a woman." This time, Arthur did look up.

"Pardon?"

" I said, 'You really are a woman.' You clean the house, iron clothes- look, you're ironing my boxers now, who does that?- I've seen your embroidery and it's definitely yours since you live alone, and _you__ make__s andwiches_. You're even wearing that headband."

Arthur stared at him and he grinned, knowing that he'd made a valid point. "Not a bloody woman, Arthur muttered, running the iron over the purple boxers with renewed force, almost as though he was trying to iron what would be under them when they were actually being worn.

Alfred chuckled and leaned back, waiting for the Briton to finish. When he heard the click of the iron being switched off, he threw his weight forward and stood up, striding over to where Arthur was studiously manhandling Alfred's shirt, in a sulk about being called a woman.

Not that he had anything against them, mind, but to be called one- okay, so it was true that most guys likely didn't clean the house on a weekly basis or do their laundry regularly. Fine, he enjoyed embroidering and making 'no-bake' cakes like those cheesecakes as well as desserts, but that _still_ didn't-!

His thoughts were cut off as Alfred's arms found their way around his waist, tugging him closer to a bare, toned torso. Arthur flushed and wriggled in the taller man's grip, exclaiming, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Let me go, you stupid dolt!"

There was no reply from Alfred and he was only held tighter, until he finally got tired and gave up. "What do you want?" Arthur mumbled, face burning. He felt the weight of Alfred's head settle on his right shoulder, spectacle arm brushing his ear, felt him inhale.

"So I was thinking about getting some dinner tonight, just the two of us-"

Alfred was winded as Arthur jabbed an elbow into him- god_damn_, that was one sharp appendage- and whirled around to smack him across the chest. "Fucking bastard! If you wanted to ask me out you could have done it from the fucking couch instead of freaking me out like this!" The bite in his words, however, was lost as his face was still tomato-red (hey, like Antonio's lunches).

"So… is that a 'yes'?" Alfred grinned down at him, arms still loosely wrapped around Arthur's waist.

Arthur bit his lip, then replied, "You're going to go home first to get yourself properly cleaned up."

"Yes!" Alfred let go at last and pumped a fist into the air, cheering.

"Th- this doesn't mean we're dating or anything, it's only one time-"

"Oh, come on, Artie," Alfred cut in, slipping an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "You're practically my boyfriend now!" He nuzzled his cheek to the top of Arthur's sandy blonde hair, the headband making it a tad less comfortable than it should be.

"What- I am nothing of the sort!" Arthur protested, ducking away.

"Look at us, I'm wearing your underwear while you iron my clothes, you made me breakfast and you're certainly not that stodgy ol' Brit you are at work around me, no formality and 'properness' and all that bullshit; even after playing some kinda fucked up real-life Angry Birds game using yours truly as a target, _and_we have a date this evening. You adore me and all that's not going to change in a few hours."

"It's our first, and yes it can. Stop thinking so highly of yourself."

"We were out together yesterday! I know you love me~"

"That doesn't count! Alfred, I swear to the heavens if you start singing Justin Bieber I am going to kick you out right this instant."

"Yes, it does, you asked me out! What's wrong with 'Baby'? It's a great song!"

"I asked you out _for __a __drink_, that's different! If that's what you call 'great', obviously you have horrendous taste in music,"

"It is _so_ not different-"

Still, as they continued to bicker, they could each feel hope tugging at their chests, clothed and naked alike. " 'The beginning of something more.' How cliché," Arthur thought, continuing to rebut Alfred's arguments.

Cliché as this ending is turning out to be, he was right. Even about being cliché.

* * *

><p>AN: Heh, Hitchhiker's Guide reference and punny words anyone?

So, what's it been? A week? Well, this chapter is twice as long. ^^ Aha, I spent the whole of yesterday writing this, seriously. Typing it today cause I was only done at night. In a bit of an alcohol -induced haze, don't mind me.

Oh, you guys really need to go read Heartstrings by Hika and Cass (under their joint account symbiotific) if you haven't, it's awesome. 200+ reviews, if you need to know, and they produced a doujin of sorts as an extra. The extra has two parts, the novel part by Cass and the doujin part by Hika, it's $15 SGD and worth every single fucking penny (well, cent), international orders opening in a while. My prized possession~~~ Read their fic(s) and go support them~!


End file.
